


Peashooter

by nighttjar



Series: Macrocosm [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Space, BAMF Edward Elric, BAMF Roy Mustang, Edward Elric Swears, First Meetings, Gen, Hurt Roy Mustang, Injured Roy Mustang, Injury, Rescue Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-01-31 12:45:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12682176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nighttjar/pseuds/nighttjar
Summary: All the while the alarms were still blaring, guns were blasting some hallways away and none of it helped the throbbing pain Roy felt in his side. He did not know who had impatiently marched into his cell, but he had gotten the impression that the kid was there to help him escape."Wait- what? Who the fuck are you?"Or not.





	Peashooter

It was probably ironic, to be forced to sit in an uncomfortable position like the military dog he was.

Roy briefly touched the smooth metal of the collar around his neck, attached to the wall behind him by an equally metallic horizontal pole, before hastily placing it back on the bleeding wound on his side. He couldn't turn his head and after the many hours that had passed, he had an ache he was deliberately made incapable of shaking off. He unfolded his legs from beneath him and crouched: staying low was the only humiliating stance he was able to maintain without stretching his neck to the impossible. He could either stoop low like this, or kneel. His bare feet were cold due to their exposure to the floor - the nails on his toes and fingers appeared to be tinted blue - but at least his captors had graced him with some plain pants and a shirt.

The cell, which he had found himself in, wasn't lit, and no matter how hard he squinted his eyes, Roy couldn't make out a single thing.

His right arm was completely stretched and chained to another wall, slightly angled to his back in a position that was just about uncomfortable enough for it to be continuously noticeable. His remaining left hand, which he used to apply pressure to his injury, was the only appendage he had previously been completely free to move around, but recently was forced to press to his side.

He was hungry - starving, even, if he allowed himself to be honest for just a second. He couldn't accurately keep track of how much time had passed, but he was almost certain it was about midway in the second day since he last ate.

The same amount of time following the gun's blast from directed at him, which had barely missed his abdomen.

Roy was freezing and found himself involuntarily shivering, sending waves of pain from his flank straight to his hurting head.

The entire situation carefully orchestrated in order to mentally break him under the continued stress of isolation, immobility, cold and pain.

It would not work.

Nothing would come close to all other manners of horror he had had to crawl through in his life. So he took this with dignity, his morale unchanging. He made sure to never let his face waver from his composed expression of apathy. A look that had often endured the whines and pleading of his team, practically begging to their boss for less work at such late hours. He had never given in to their desperate requests and wasn't going to start caving now.

Roy entertained the idea that the comparison would make his stoic lieutenant allow herself a soft smile. Or a resigned sigh, far too used to his dramatic streak. The latter was more likely.

Roy would like to say he hadn't signed up for this when he joined the garrison, but he kind of had, hadn't he? Intergalactic travel had allowed mankind to prosper more than any other achievement had ever done before. Mankind's ships and weaponry had opened doors for rich opportunities, trading and military prowess.

All that was granted to not the world, but to the single country of Amestris - or rather, her military. The aggressive nation had enforced monopoly upon space exploration through sheer military violence.

By virtue of alchemy, Amestris had been able to develop at a far faster rate than her neighbouring countries, causing rising international hostilities.

It was all put to an end when the Fuhrer issued an abhorrent decree. One great war had resulted in the complete destruction and near total ethnic cleansing of Amestris' greatest opposition, Ishval.

Xing had been saved similar inhalation by the blessing of a miracle drought in the Great Desert, temporarily halting the advancing forces of Amestris. It had been like an epiphany to the nation's Emperor, who from that point on had banned the practice of alkahestry throughout Xing. The order had appeased the Fuhrer enough for him to postpone the attack to a later date, allowing Xing to breathe a sigh of relief and cry at the loss of their nation's greatest pride.

Drachma had haughtily signed a Pact of Non-Aggression, which was shaky at best.

Aerugo's prince had had no choice but to bow to the Fuhrer's will in order to spare his country from excessive backlash and the federal state of Creta had reluctantly been forced to do the same. Both had been left alone, but who really knew for how long that would last?

No, Roy had thought he knew what he was getting into when he abandoned his teacher's rules and signed up for the military. He had been right to a certain extent, but had naively underestimated just how severely his loyalty would be tested. If only the population would have benefited from all the caused misery too, then maybe Roy would have been able to confidently follow through the extermination, assured he'd done the right thing for his country. But that had not been the case, and Roy had moulded himself into nothing but a criminal in his mind.

The people in and surrounding the capital had been able to continue their lives with anxious ease, untouched by otherworldly influences, whereas the citizens near the borders had to suffer through the earthly wars. Space was for the military, and the military alone. And, oh, had it been flourishing.

It had been a rapid thriving that had come far too soon for such a relative primitive species in contrast to the significantly more advanced alien explorers and empires.

The Fuhrer had found it unfortunate, so he had remorsefully told the press, but he had had no choice but to surrender some of Amestris' galactic strongholds. Lieutenant General Grumman's had been one of said strongholds. Having been cut off from earth had left the garrison utterly defenceless and it was easily overrun by an alien species previously - and currently, still - unknown to mankind.

Roy had been apprehended, his demonstration of his destructive alchemy having saved him from being thrown aside as mere collateral damage, as it had apparently intrigued their enemy.

He desperately hoped for his team to have been captured alongside him. Roy would not grant them the respite of death, not even under the pretence of mercy: he didn't consider himself to be so kind.

It had been clear to Roy that the aliens themselves also appeared to have some form of alchemy, but it was significantly different. Whereas alkahestry and alchemy had shared obvious similarities, Roy couldn't pinpoint any when he saw one of his assailants use their own version of it.

It definitely had an offensive function to it: his own injury being clear proof of the fact. The scientist that had been knocked out in the subconscious of Roy's mind had jumped up from his self-induced coma, had been baffled by the implications and was itching to research what it possibly could be.

The aliens apparently felt the same way.

It definitely would have been great if they had been incapable of speaking any human language, but through some form of technology (or that new kind of alchemy, because Roy certainly had no clue about its limitations) they, of course (damn his luck), had been able to do just that. One thing led to another and Roy's resolve to withhold any information on the earthly science resulted in his current situation.

Roy had no idea for how long his enemies would continue to be this patient with him, but he knew he would suffer through all that they’d come up with, or perish. A promise he had made to Riza, and an obligation to his most prominent shred of humanity he refused to let go of, no matter what.

Roy closed his eyes, only having kept them open just for the sake of being stubborn, and resigned himself to another useless attempt to get any form of relaxation, let alone rest or sleep. It hadn't even been a minute until he was startled, to the point of nearly letting out a squeal, by a loud explosion, sounding strangely far away despite the sheer amount of noise - or so experience told Roy - it should have made.

Soon chaos ensued outside of Roy's cell. He heard commands being yelled, the clanking sound of armoured boots running on the metal floor, hasting to the source of the attack. Oh, Roy hoped it had been an attack, and not some rookie mistake of an inexperienced soldier.

He grimaced. He couldn't let such an opportunity pass him by. Roy removed his hand from his wound and brought it to his neck. His hand felt like it was covered in a considerable amount of blood, enough to allow him to smear it over his skin, the collar, and whatever little he was able to push under the metal, hoping it could act as some twisted version of lubricant. Whilst doing so, he twisted his neck, or tried to anyway. He wasn't able to move at all. Roy muttered a curse and tried again. The blood would soon dry and he would have to apply pressure to his injury again, as it still hadn't stopped slowly bleeding. (Definitely because of that strange alchemy). Roy gathered all courage he could muster, breathed through his mouth a couple times, tasting iron. One, two - he twisted his neck. He felt his neck bruise and burn, but he had turned a bit at long last. He stretched his left arm, but couldn't reach the metal cuffs around his wrists.

Mission failed.

Roy dropped his arm and let loose a growl in the back of throat. He couldn't just let that be it. He had a best friend that needed to get back to his wife and daughter, damnit!

Once more he tried to reach, and failed.

All right, think. Roy wasn't the youngest to join the military ranks out of sheer luck. He was charismatic, intelligent and resourceful: he was an undeniable alchemical prodigy. And how low he had sunk that he needed a pep talk at all.

Roy stretched one final time and reluctantly resigned to drawing a transmutation circle on the skin of his arm with blood, as close to the cuff as he could get without fear of badly messing up. The circle was complex: it included all forms of matter this metal could have been made off - as far as Roy knew, that is.

It was awfully risky.

Not only had he no idea what exactly it was he was going to transmute – unknown alien matter hadn’t yet been extensively researched -, he had also drawn it on his own arm, and with his own blood. If something went wrong - no, even if the formula was sound -, his arm could be lost in the transmutation.

Master Hawkeye would have hit him over the head. Expelling him would have been too kind of a mercy. "I have no need for boys who are still wet behind the ears," he'd say. Riza would have agreed. Hell, Roy would have as well.

But he'd be damned if he was going to idly sit there for a minute longer, not when he had been given such a golden opportunity - one that would never come again.

Then, a loud screech tears itself through the walls and straight into Roy's eardrums. He gasped. If the sirens had gone off after such a long while since the explosion, then it had to have been an attack: an ongoing assault on the ship.

The gunshots were getting louder, hurrying footsteps nearer and dwindling in numbers. Closer and closer until they stopped - right in front of his cell.

Roy held his breath, afraid that if he moved even a hair on his head he'd crush all hope, seal his fate for the worst.

The door to his cell electronically slid upon - an unbearable light descending on him. Roy barely had been able to close his eyes just in time to avoid being completely blinded.

"So, ugh. Hi. We're here to help you escape. They didn’t bother informing me about you much, so if you're a decent fighter, I'm just gonna go ahead and give you a weapon. You may as well help me out, y’know." A pause, and a metallic clank. "Please, be a decent fighter."

Roy blinked. In front of him was a kid. A teenage boy. A human child, in space -! Roy's breathing hitched as he studied the boy's appearance, desperately searching as if capturing this moment was going to save him.

The boy had a metallic glow to his blond hair and carried golden eyes, which were currently squinting to see anything in the darkness of the narrow room. Underneath his eyes were bruises caused by lack of sleep, but what had actually caused Roy alarm were the two some sort of thin technical modifications added below his eyes, curving along with the natural angle of the boy's cheekbones. The teen had a metal prosthetic for a right arm - one Roy recognized as automail -, causing a misplaced and disturbing sense of familiarity, having seen it once or twice before on earth.

He internally winced at the thought, feeling sympathy for the boy in front of him: the horrors the teen had had to face were too obvious, too unnerving and uncomfortable on someone so young.

All the while the alarms were still blaring, guns were blasting some hallways away and none of it helped the throbbing pain Roy felt in his side. He did not know who had impatiently marched into his cell, but he had gotten the impression that the kid was there to help him escape.

"Wait- what? Who the fuck are you?"

Or not.

Roy cleared his throat, and cringed at the crack in his voice when he spoke. "I'm Colonel Roy Mustang, from the Eastern sphere command. My team and I were attacked a couple days back. Do you know if they’re here as well?"

The boy shook his head, but Roy could tell it wasn't a dismissal. He'd be surprised if the kid had listened at all.

The boy startled out of his musings and walked further into the cell. In the light the transmutation circle Roy had drawn was obvious. And messy. Very messy. Roy winced.

So did the kid. "That's disgusting," he said, with such viciousness to his voice, Roy would have assumed the very transmutation circle itself had come to life and had verbally offended the boy. The teen turned his head to Roy so fast, the latter could have sworn he heard the boy’s neck crack. "Are you a novice?"

Roy huffed. "If you hadn't noticed, it's dark in here."

The boy raised his arms indignantly, which was pretty dramatic. "And what a way to go! 'Hur, didn't see what I was doing, metal transmutation on my arm seemed like a good idea in my head, dur'. Disgusting," he repeated, leaning down to wipe away the drying blood with his shirt.

The boy clapped his hands together, releasing flashes of blue light when he separated them, leaned forward and touched the cuff, which melted away from Roy's arm, back into the wall. The boy proceeded to do the same to the collar, then he stepped back, looking very pleased with himself.

Having nothing to lean onto anymore caused Roy to collapse on the ground, his side flaring up in pain. He groaned. The kid made no move to help him out, not bothering to react at all except for the impatient rise of his eyebrow. The brat.

Roy’s protests had been actively shut, however. That had been alchemy. A highly advanced transmutation on alien matter.

The teen had noticed him staring, and had seemed to preen at the fact. Roy stood and wobbled a bit: the kid still not moving or attempting to assist.

“What of my team?” Roy spat, despite himself.

The teen huffed, annoyed. He reached for the left technological modification on his face, pushed a tiny button and extracted a thin miniature microphone. From the right device he got an earpiece, which he unfolded so it could fit in his ear. It had to have been some form of communication device. “Anyone willing to fill me in on other prisoners here?”

Roy held his breath. He couldn’t hear the answer, but the boy nodded once. Roy would have laughed at the uselessness of that, hadn’t he been incredibly tense. He’d do anything for any kind of response and he wasn't going to antagonize the only one who could give him an answer.

“How many humans did you say you found?” the boy looked surprised at the answer he got. “I found one, too. No sign of the big guy, though. What the hell is up with that, anyway?" Another pause. "I'll pass it on. We’re heading for the escape pods now. All good on your end?” He waited for a second or two. “Oh, nice. All right, go take off then. Leave Schrl behind, tell him to secure one last pod.” He then neatly folded back the equipment, without any indication of ending the contact. Roy couldn't help but sympathise with the guy on the other end, who had undoubtedly been left hanging - maybe even mid-sentence, judging from what he had seen of the teen's personality.

The boy waved Roy over. “So, the people I’m with? They cleared the normal cells in the back and said there were six humans. They were all loaded unto the escape pods already, but I got one name. Riza Hawkeye?”

Roy swayed on his legs in relief. At least she made it. He desperately hoped for the rest of those six humans to be his team, but he wouldn’t let his guard down until he knew for certain. “Thanks.”

The kid shrugged, appearing very uncomfortable. “No biggie.” He seemed to mean it, too.

Roy raised an eyebrow and grinned, finally allowing himself to think of anything else besides his team’s safety. “What do I call you?”

The teen rested his hands on his hips, his embarrassment gone to replace an easy air of arrogance. “I’m Ed. Now, you coming or what?”

Roy stumbled over and had to stop himself from commenting. Ed was short, surprisingly so, which made him appear even younger than Roy had initially guessed him to be. Now that he had better visibility in the dim light Roy could tell that the teen’s right eye was darker than his left, dull, even, in comparison to the other. Roy guessed that had something to do with the massive discoloured scar on that side of the teen's head, covering the eye. Roy assumed it had to have been some kind of burn. He had created enough himself to recognise them with ease.

Ed walked ahead of him, crouching down right outside the cell at an alien corpse. Probably the guard. “So, Colonel? You’re military, right? You can shoot then, yeah?”

 _Not well when I’m oozing blood and am in pain, no_. But Roy bit back the snarl. He held out his right hand and got handed a blaster, which had been previously owned by the killed alien on the ground. The gun was smooth and appeared to be pulsating light. “I’m used to bullets.”

Ed shrugged, he seemed to do that a lot, and dismissed him with a wave. “Metal ammo, right? That isn’t going to pierce through their armour. This is better.”

Metal ammo? Roy blinked. The teen didn’t know what bullets were?

Ed walked on. “If you can at all, stay low, but be quick.”

Roy was, also, not used to being ordered around, but he wasn’t going to complain. That wasn’t important right now, and Ed obviously knew a lot more about what was going on than Roy did. “Yes Sir,” he said anyway, because he simply couldn’t resist and hadn’t talked to anyone in which seemed like a lifetime.

Ed turned around, face completely blank before he snorted. Actually snorted. It was loud and ugly, and twisted his face into an expression overflowing with mirth.

The sight made Roy pause momentarily. If teenagers like Ed, scarred unlike any civilian adult man Roy knew, could still laugh like that, then maybe - just maybe - his current situation wasn't completely hopeless.

Ed didn't verbally reply otherwise and continued on walking after professionally straightening his composure. Roy followed carefully, swallowing hisses of pain that flared up now and again. All corridors looked the same and Roy began to feel disorientated. Ed seemed to know where to go though.

They passed a couple corners before Ed roughly pushed Roy against the wall. Roy bit back a cry, his tired but trained brain recognizing the situation for what it was. He raised his blaster as well as he could and lowered himself in a position that strained his injury the least. Ed hummed in approval. The metallic footsteps quickly drew nearer; whoever they belonged to were jogging to their destination. Ed pulled out a plain-looking survival knife from his belt. Judging from his earlier commend on the uselessness of ‘metal ammo’, the blade had to have been a bit more special than the regular steel.

Ed reacted immediately when the first enemy appeared around the corner. He tackled the nearest alien to the ground and slashed at the armour's weak spot: right into the space between its neck and face.

The aliens were just as quick to adapt, however. The remaining two raised their weapons and shot at the teen. Ed jumped up, dodged out of the way and sprinted without hesitation towards another assailant. He slammed his weight into the creature and used his metallic arm to keep it down.

The other ignored Roy in favour of taking aim at the far more aggressive teen, and Roy made sure it would never be able to regret that. He didn't hesitate and raised the unfamiliar gun, blasting right through the alien's skull, whilst Ed finally ended his wrestling match with the loud snap of a broken neck.

Ed stood up and looked at the alien whose brain was splattered all over the floor and wall behind it. He whistled. "Damn. You're a good shot."

Roy lowered the gun and leaned back against the wall. He breathed hard through his nose and tried to muffle his groans. Ed took some tentative steps close and crouched down in front of Roy, for the first time paying the wound any heed. "I can't do anything about that," he said, and it sounded like an apology despite the rough tone. "I'm sure my group can help, though. After a stunt like that I can probably convince them to let you stay until you recover, provided you repay the favour." He looked up. "Before you ask - and don't give me that look, you're really predictable -, yes, this applies to you  _and_  your team."

Roy nodded, only registering bits and pieces. "You rescue people and then – what? - _drop_  them off?"

Ed nodded, he roughly pulled his hair in a ways to readjust his ponytail. "Yeah. We bring them to their planet, or just their solar system. We only provide first aid, but," he poked Roy's side with a teasing smirk, making the man flinch and growl, "you seem to have pissed them off a great lot, which is  _pretty_  awesome for us."

Roy fixed him with a stern look. "Your group may have saved me, it doesn't make me want to tell them what I wouldn't these guys."

Ed huffed. "Should have said that  _after_  you were all healed up," he rightfully pointed out. Roy mentally hit himself, but waited for the kid to continue. "But, they were likely after the secret behind alchemy. Which, heh, I obviously know more about."

Roy wanted to point out his specialty was elsewhere, and that it was his destructiveness the aliens were after, but he wasn't going to slip up twice. And they walked on, the kid none the wiser.

The next few minutes they spent in silence, both not wanting to bring in unnecessary attention. Ed sometimes played with his communicator, but never turned it on or said anything. It was obvious the teen wanted to run, rather than walk, and yet never complained. Roy appreciated it, though he refused to mention it.

"We're getting close." Ed crouched down before a corner, next to another corpse. They'd already passed two more, excluding the one outside Roy's cell and those they'd killed together. Ed hadn't bothered to comment on any of them. It was disturbing.

"What? You sense your group's presence or something?"

"No, I'm a man. I'm good with directions." It should have been a joke, but Ed sounded dead serious. "The escape pods are near here, somewhere. All their damn ships are designed the same way." The boy was tense, his eyes darted around every corner, up and down. He wasn’t looking for anything, but he was on alert, appearing more and more anxious by the second. Roy looked away, paying attention to their surroundings himself. The alarm hadn’t ceased for even a moment, but there weren’t any soldiers in sight anywhere. It was deadly quite despite the loud noise, and Roy realised that that must be why Ed wasn’t being his confident self.

"You were expecting to hear an ongoing fight."

"Yeah, kinda." Ed didn't sound worried, but Roy noticed a slight strain of the metal hand on the wall where they had stopped. He almost smirked. The nerves were harder to control when you don't feel how hard you're applying pressure for. He just hoped he'd never be the one suffering from such an easy mistake.

"Okay, so here's the plan," Ed said eventually, as he stood up fully. "We're going in, anyone wearing the armour of the enemy gets killed, and we take a pod and leave." He turned around and scowled at Roy. "If things get rough and you're too slow, I'm leaving you."

Roy didn't believe him for even a second, but he nodded. Ed was a terrible liar. He seemed like a guy who wore his heart on his sleeve. It was a rarity nowadays, and Roy wasn't bitter enough to crush it.

Breathing deeply, Roy steadied himself. He was (finally) beginning to feel light-headed. Around this time he must have been supposed to be collected, healed up, then injured and put back again. Or would they have gone for physical torture this time? It was an unpleasant thought. Biting back his discomfort, he readied his gun. "I'm ready."

Ed didn't call him out, so Roy assumed he appeared presentable enough to be convincing. Or Ed didn't care.

Ed stalked ahead, all the while remaining vigilant and sprung up. Roy wasn't far behind, no less prepared for the worst.

They didn't have to. When the doors automatically slid open they were greeted by the charging sound of an alien gun, which immediately died down again. The gun wasn’t familiar to Roy, and he came to the conclusion that the owner was an ally when he lowered the weapon to his side.

"There you are. I beckon you to make haste, this place is about to be destroyed."

Ed had the audacity to look indignant. "You were going to blow the ship up with me still on board? Too rude."

The one who had been waiting for them was gigantic. A grotesque alien, pale from top to bottom with black hollow eyes and horns covering his head and shoulders. He wore a plain, sleeveless black shirt and long pants that partially hid his armoured boots. Everything about this creature screamed ‘I’m ripped enough to tear you apart with my bare hands’. His face and arms were tattooed with red ink. Oh, Roy  _hoped_  it was ink.

The alien lifted his arm in greeting, and maybe smiled, Roy honestly couldn’t tell. "The name Schrl was bestowed upon me."

Roy wasn't going to try repeating the gurgling sound that was the creature’s name, ever. "Roy Mustang," he said.

Ed grumbled. "To him you give your name, I, on the other hand, got your title first." He sounded annoyed.

Schrl impatiently gestured for them to come over. In the back was a readied pod, the only one not visibly destroyed. Roy swallowed. How come he was perfectly capable of imagining the alien to have been able to just  _smash_  these ships like they were nothing?   
  
Schrl casually picked up a ranting Ed ("I'm not a child! Put me down!"), then reached out a hand to help Roy embark. He faltered. "You travelled all this way with such a grievous wound?" He pointed a stubby finger - of which he had only three - to Roy's side.

Roy grunted, gracelessly dropping himself into a seat once he was inside, and attempted to buckle himself in.

Schrl stopped him, doing it for him instead, surprisingly careful for such a big and broad creature. "Humans truly are magnificently sturdy."

Roy nodded politely, absolutely reluctant to discuss alien species with Schrl. He was quite done, thank you.

Ed looked at Roy from the co-pilot seat in the front, and Schrl hurried into making preparations for their take-off. "He speaks funny, right? My doing. I built that instant-translator. I switch it up now and again. I tried to go for Shakespearean this time. They have no idea, as I'm the only one actually capable of speaking the language."

It took Roy a while for it to register, focussed on breathing for a while "The only one?"

Ed looked conflicted, almost wistful. "You're the first human I've seen in years."

Roy paused. To be stuck in space, for such a long time? Not only that, but to live without any human contact. The way Ed had phrased his words made Roy believe that the boy and his alien companions didn't even understand one another at first. And that translator? It would have taken the greatest of technicians to create that months, if not years. The implication horrified Roy, in the most selfish way. What was Ed expecting to find now that he had finally contacted another human being after years of isolation from his own kind?

Ed appeared anxious, now, as if he was able to sense Roy’s withdrawal. Maybe he wanted to say something, but he shut his mouth when Schrl came back and gave the OK to launch.

Ed slammed the controls with his automail arm, abusing the pod to life. Schrl pushed some buttons and steered them out the ship, far gentler. Once again, Roy gazed outside only to see blackness, the stars closer and more dangerous than ever. Free.

Roy allowed himself to finally let out the breath he'd been holding for days and closed his eyes. He was going to be handed over to just another organization, he guessed as much as Ed and Schrl exchanged a series of gurgling sounds, clicks and spat syllables Roy didn't recognize but vaguely registered as predatory. It was likely the alien’s native language.

Maes. Riza. His team. Roy would see them again, that was for certain. He heard some shuffling and reluctantly opened his eyes to meet the unmatched golden ones. Ed grinned, all teeth. "We're going to jump a wormhole soon."

Of course they were. “Escape pods here are capable of that?”

Ed shook his head. “Nah, these things don’t even have proper weaponry. Our mothership is setting one up.” He lowered his voice. “Your injury kind of needs to be treated quickly.”

Roy sighed, not bothering to respond. He thought he’d done a good job with it so far. Though it had been obvious the wound wasn’t meant to keep him from moving right away and to hurt him in the long run, but to hear it was actually slowly killing him managed to frighten Roy, just a bit.

Ed blinked, oblivious to the man’s inner turmoil. "Fine, be silent and in pain if you will. Schrl agreed with me that we should bring you to our healing chambers right away, once we’re there. That wound is pretty bad, but it’ll be fine. We have someone that can cure the curse, no biggie. Healing afterwards will be easy."

Roy nodded, too tired to bring up anything else. Everything was catching up and it hit him hard. Sleeping in front of alien strangers, however, was beyond him.

Ed's eyes softened, just a bit. Now it didn't look like the boy was judging him too harshly, only calculating his reactions. It dawned on Roy that, if Ed had actually used alchemy, the teen was a scientist. A scientist like Roy himself was supposed to be, before he became a killer.

Ed looked like that: a murderer. Too confident and comfortable around gore and explosions. Dangerous and feral, as well as cheeky and brilliant. Otherworldly, and yet, oddly familiar.

"Actually," Roy began, and right before fell asleep he spoke, matter-of-factly, as if it somehow mattered now. He smiled, the beginning of banter on his lips, almost second nature to him, making him feel like he was  _home_. "You are  _really_  short."

Roy hadn't heard or registered the hell that Ed had unleashed after that. He hadn’t been aware of Schrl’s undignified screech, as they shot through a wormhole, whilst the alien tried to both keep the tiny ship steady as well as restrain a terror midget.

Roy  _had_  been amused, however, at the exasperated glare he got from Schrl the moment he awoke, dizzy and confused, but healed, rested and warm. His entire team greeted him happily, not a scratch on them. He hadn’t seen Ed yet, but the kid probably had more to do than idle about. Roy tried not to be disappointed by it.

Riza offered him a worried smile, whereas Maes enthusiastically threw a grounding arm over his friend’s shoulder. Havoc was showing serious signs of cigarette withdrawal, but grinned happily next to Fuery, Breda and Falman, the latter looking about ready to burst into tears. They were abandoned by their country and thrown into a war they hadn’t wanted to be in. Scared and confused.  Momentarily they would be bombarded by questions, blackmailed and forced to cooperate. 

“Good to see you’re not lazing about anymore, Sir.”

“Good to see you’re ready as ever to shoot me, Lieutenant.”

But they’d be fine. They always were.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading my (first) fic in my space AU for FMA. I apologize for the ending appearing a bit rushed, I really wanted to focus on Roy and Ed in this. If you liked it, please be sure to let me know one way or another, I really appreciate it.
> 
> As this isn't an AU I'm going to write a whole story in, I might write some spin-offs, but that is of later concern.
> 
> In any case, thank you, again. 
> 
> Have a good one.


End file.
